a great perhaps awaits us
by prettypinklips
Summary: Hmm, she murmurs, sounding almost amused, not a bad turnout for my funeral. / Damon, Caroline, and a road trip. -— damon/caroline.


**a great perhaps awaits us**

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—

She perches above him, wide smile parting her lips, hands pressed to his chest. _Wake up,_ she tells him. _Wake up._

Damon screws the heel of his hand into his eyes, blinks twice, wonders if he's seeing things. "You're not supposed to be here." he says, and her hands push into his chest once more before she leans back, sitting on his bedspread. She runs her hand over the red silk, and looks back at him.

_Doesn't change the fact that I am,_ she says, lips curling up at the edges.

He sits up, "What do you want?" he asks, "You're not supposed to be here. It's impossible for you to be—" he rubs his eyes again. She's been here before. He doesn't know why he expected her face to be anything but a dream.

A nightmare.

Caroline blinks owlishly, blue eyes sparkling with mirth and something he can't place. Maybe sadness, maybe not. _When have I ever done what I was supposed to do?_ she asks, leaning forward. And then, when he's contemplating that, she nods her head to a folded up paper airplane on his desk. He rolls out of bed, running a hand through his scruffy hair. He picks up the paper, slowly unfolding it.

"What is it?" he questions, without turning back to her.

_It's a map,_ she tells him, voice airy, excited, _for the road trip we're going to take._

_The one you promised me,_ she adds.

His heart seizes at her words, and he stands stock still, and doesn't move until he hears his door click shut behind her.

—

"You're still here?" he asks, putting the kettle on the stove, flipping the switch and lighting the gas.

_I never left,_ Caroline says, sitting on the counter beside the stove, swinging her legs. _You just didn't see me,_ she twirls a curl around her finger.

Damon grimaces, "Is that supposed to be a metaphor?"

Caroline grins, teeth gleaming. _What do you think?_ she jumps down from the counter, sauntering over to him. She's wearing jeans, slung low on her hips. Her white v-neck is short and he looks away from her to swallow at the expanse of skin that's showing where her shirt and the waistband of her jeans barely meet. _So, about that road trip?_

"What's it gonna take to get rid of you?" Damon asks, ignoring her words, eyes on his tea kettle.

_What's it going to take to get you out of this house and into the sunshine?_ Caroline counters, and he can almost hear her eyebrows raising, pinching in the middle, betraying her frustration.

"There's nothing for me out there." he says, pulling the kettle off of the stove.

Her voice lowers, her breath on the back of his neck. _There's nothing left for you in here, either._

"Don't say that." he hisses, dread pooling in his stomach. "Don't you _ever_ say that. There has to be a way. There has to be a away to bring you back—" he slams his fist down onto the counter, unable to finish his sentence.

She doesn't say anything, and when he looks over his shoulder, she's gone.

—

The map ends up on the edge of his bathtub. The top of the fireplace. In the fridge. On the kitchen counter. The couch. The bar. His pillow.

"_Alright!_ Jeez, Blondie. We'll go, okay?" he tells loudly, pulling the map out of his underwear drawer.

She comes out of nowhere, clapping her hands and squealing. _I'm so excited!_ she cries.

"Me, too." he lies.

—

"Stefan," he calls in the afternoon because he knows his brother won't be around, off somewhere in his happily ever after with Elena, top busy being smiley and sunshiny to pull his elder brother from an early grave, "Stefan, she's here." he breathes as the answering machine in Stefan and Elena's beachfront home picks up the phone call. "She wants to—" he swallows, "Caroline wants to go on a trip."

_You promised,_ she whispers against his neck, voice hot on his skin. _We'll take a trip, Caroline, is what you said, and you swore you'd never break another promise to me._

Damon'a voice cracks, "I'm going on a trip, Stefan."

He doesn't bother to add to the ghost of the girl at his back that she swore she'd never leave him.

—

_The hills are alive,_ she whisper-sings, chin on his shoulder, hands on top of his as he grips the steering wheel tight, _with the sound of music._ She's in the backseat, ghostly body perched just behind his chair.

"I hate that movie." he gripes. He feels his knuckles turning white, and he wishes she'd move, float away from him towards her side of the car.

Because the thing is: she can touch him, but he can't touch her. Death is funny like that, he guesses. She's there, but she's not a tangible being he can hug or kiss or dance with.

She slides her ghostly fingers through his, laughs in his ear. _The hills are alive,_ she whispers in his ear, _with the sound of music._

_Stop it,_ he thinks.

She doesn't stop.

—

The first place she's marked on the world map is London. It's circled in a pink gel color, along with a smiley face. His heart clenches, and he shoves the map away.

_Hey,_ Caroline pouts, pulling her feet up onto the passenger seat, glaring at him. _What'd the map do to you?_

It reminds me of things that aren't there, he wants to say, but doesn't. Because she's there.

(Only, not really. He hasn't decided if he's imagining her or not.)

Here's what he remembers: there is a blur moving towards him, he thinks it might have been Rebekah, and the scent of a freshly sharpened stake is in the air. Time moves fast, too fast for his vampire eyes to see.

And suddenly, her body is in front of his, and Rebekah has impeccable aim. Her body slumps over the stake, and he's too busy falling to his knees and pulling her still, too white form against him to listen to Rebekah's mad laughter.

Here's what happens after: a fresh grave is dug, and daisies are planted around Caroline Forbes' headstone. Her mother cries, Tyler is lost in the fray of people that loved her but never bothered to prove it, Klaus stands on the edge of the cemetery, eyes rimmed red. He vanishes before Damon can wrap his hands around the hybrid Original's throat. Elena, Bonnie, Matt, and Stefan are one being, wrapped around each other, tear tracks staining their faces.

Damon stands back, away from it all. And that's the first time she appears to him.

_Hmm,_ she murmurs, sounding almost amused, _not a bad turnout for my funeral._ He's aware that his mouth is hanging open, and her yellow summer dress is bright, a stark contrast to the mourning black on black around them.

_Miss me yet?_ she questions.

Here's what happens after the after:

He's pretty sure he's gone batshit insane.

"Just get out of the car." he says instead, and she slides out, not bothering to open the door.

—

_Oh, a plane!_ she cries gleefully, clapping her hands. _You spoil me,_ she says sweetly, grinning up at him as they board their plane to the UK.

He ignores her as she chatters away, because people are looking at him strangely, wondering why he's talking to the empty space at his side, and why he's gripping an imaginary hand.

—

_Hm, it's a lot quieter than I imagined._ Caroline muses, pulling her hair off of her neck, up into a sloppy bun, strands falling in her eyes, framing her face. She ties a scarf around her neck, pulling her coat tight around her.

Damon purses his lips, staring up at Big Ben. She's talking about London. She'd obviously expected boys bands at every corner, the prince and princess prancing around. It was nothing like that. Just beautiful, rustic buildings, a rainy mist, and a few business men and women, and a family of tourists in matching I Love London shirts.

While he'd been contemplating their surroundings, she's vanished, appearing again in front of the Big Ben. She looks over her shoulder at him, winking. She steps through the walls, and if he listens hard enough, he can hear her ridiculously high heels clopping up the stairs towards the face of the clock.

Then, he glances at his watch. It's half past four; and the clock won't chime for another half hour. He hears her laughter then, and the clock chimes, five times, then six, and seven. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

She laughs loudly, appearing beside him, rubbing her hands together. _That was so much fun!_ she cries, _you should try it!_

Damon grimaces, "I'd rather not be arrested." he mutters.

She pouts at him. _Stop being such a sour vampire._

—

He remembers long nights.

He thinks that's what he misses the most about her being alive. Falling asleep curled up together on the couch, just when Stefan and Elena are waking up, sun shining through the front windows. The night was their time; it belonged to them, called to them. He wonders if she remembers it, too.

Damon watches her now, browsing through a gift shop beside Big Ben, and thinks that maybe she doesn't. Because the sunlight is hitting her face through the windows, and she's smiling. She must not remember the nights tangled in the sheets and drunken stories told in front of the roaring fire.

She pushes something into his hands: a snow globe with Big Ben in the center. The clock reads noon on the inside, the brightest time of day, and he looks up at her, spearing her with a dark look.

_Sometimes you have to let go of your darkness,_ she says, peculiarly perky, _and step into the light._ She reaches out, brushing her thumb over his lips. _I never got the chance to let go of my darkness before I died._ Caroline frowns, eyes closing, thumb still on his lips, _but you still have a chance._

She spears him with an equally dark look. _Don't let the opportunity pass you by._

—

Damon ponders that for awhile after she's gone off to do ghostly things and he's lying in his hotel room, turning the snow globe over and over.

He decides she's on some sort of ghost crack and chucks the snow globe into the trash. So what if he was a little moody and morbid? So what if night was his favorite time of day—

Oh, who was he kidding? Certainly not Elena, certainly not Stefan, and especially not Caroline. And wasn't she the only one who really, truly mattered?

He picks the snow globe out of the trash, and tucks it gingerly into his suitcase. When he lays back down, she's sitting in the corner of the room, curled up in a chair, watching him.

"Go 'way." he mumbles, though he doesn't really want her to.

Damon falls asleep to the sound of her telling him about the white beaches and crystal clear blue water on the other side.

—

"If it's so nice over there," Damon snaps when they're in Paris, "why don't you stay there?" he's talking about the beaches and the water and the dead celebrities she's nattering away about. It has him at his wits end. And maybe he's a little jealous, but whatever.

Caroline looks wounded and guilt instantly slams him. _I'm trying to help you,_ she hisses, and disappears in a whirl of smoke and vanilla scented perfume.

He spends the day hiding in his hotel room, and he makes sure to bring a girl up from the bar and take her on every part of the multi-bedroom hotel suite.

While the brunette is yelling his made up name, he can dimly hear Caroline crying in the bathroom, behind the closed door, lying in the bathtub.

—

There is a fight to be had, he's just not sure what he's fighting for yet.

—

_tbc._


End file.
